


11:11

by PookityPook



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Song fic, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 16:03:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6476785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PookityPook/pseuds/PookityPook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When I lie down and die, at least I can say I loved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	11:11

**Author's Note:**

> Hello 911, I listened to this song of the same name by In This Moment and made myself sad. I guess in my defense, I figured if I did it to myself first it wouldn't hurt as much when the show does it... right?
> 
> I really suggest listening to it before reading, it will get you in the mood ;)

**_It’s been a long, long road. It’s been a long, long dream…_ **

 

James Flint was alone.

This wasn’t anything new. His whole life he had kept himself at a distance, even before he had come to the conclusion that he was inarguably cursed when it came to anything resembling a close relationship.

But now his solitude penetrated every moment of his waking existence. In a way, Flint preferred it to any alternative. Being alone meant he was safe from others, and they were safe from him. And when the loneliness sometimes became a bit much, he had the ghosts that lived within dreams and memories to keep him company.

And those ghosts were always easy to visit and revisit. More and more lately they tended to return the favour, inviting him inside, drawing him closer, when he had drunk even more than usual. Slept longer. And longer still.

One day soon, he expected his would cross the threshold into that not-so-distant realm for the last time.

It was not a completely unattractive notion. He had stood there before, coming very close to taking that fatal step. It was a familiar sight to him.

 

**_God knows I gave them hell. God knows I’ve tried…_ **

 

On what counted as a good day anymore, Flint could come very close to convincing himself that he did everything he could. Always fought his hardest. Always acted in a manner that brought about as best an end as he could manage.

He could almost convince himself that every time anyone had questioned or threatened or resisted him, they were deliberately doing it simply to hold him back from achieving his goals.

Those people had all been too stupid, too ungrateful, or too cowardly to see that he was right. And Flint could convince himself that they almost always ended up seeing the truth, and their error, one way or another. More often than not, after disastrous consequences.

But then the logical side of his mind would always speak up, and Flint resented it. More than that... he hated it. If not for never letting him have these thoughts to himself, even now, then for no other reason than because of the voice it took.

On bad days, most days, he listened to that voice. Reminiscing and missing it. He remembered how he had let it in, unwillingly at first. Then he tolerated it. Then welcomed it and what it had to offer.

And then at some point he had come to crave it. That was, in hindsight, the moment everything had started to fall apart one last time.

 

**_There’s a not a thing I would change. My heart’s stayed in the flames…_ **

 

The one ghost that Flint claimed to absolutely refuse to entertain when he could help it was the one he saw the most often.

Always appearing in golden skin and knowing smiles and piercing eyes whose colour was like that of the point where sea met sky. Soft, dark curls that Flint used to tug passionately. Then gently run his fingers through. Much like its real life counter-part, this ghost wormed its way into Flint’s mind and body and soul. Unlike its real life counterpart however, it would never release its grip on him.

And its voice. One of the only voices that ever dared to contradict Flint belonged to that ghost.

Though its owner had long ago moved on –- escaped -– Flint seemed to have held on to it, and the memories that surrounded it. Quiet confessions. Sleepy murmurs and heated arguments. Bold orders and steely ultimatums. One final cracked, departing farewell.

It reminded Flint of all his failures, and he hated that it still did so when the man who had left it behind was so far away.

He hated that it still was not enough to ever make him apologize.

**_It’s been a beautiful tragedy…_ **

 

It was perfect, if Flint was being honest with himself. Nothing in his life had ever gone as he expected, so he should have expected something like this.

He had always imagined he would go out in a whirlwind of blood and cannon fire. Or struck down by the blade of a sword. Or drowned in the sea.

Now he only drowned in rum and the dark depths of his own psyche.

He didn’t even fight it. If anything, as he collapsed into bed at night –- or in the morning, or afternoon -– he hoped that the now ever-present haze in his mind would smother what was left of his consciousness. That he could avoid the tedium of repeating the same the next time he awoke.

 

**_When I lie down and die…_ **

It was a slow death, his descent into those depths.

But this time there was no one to pull him out, and with no strength left of his own, it was inevitable.

 

**_At least I can say I loved._ **


End file.
